


To The Depths of the Sea and Back

by tempered_rose



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Feels, Gen, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooo. This fic. Well, let me just tell you what was asked for. The prompt was: Can you please do a really sad fictlet or drabble of Gallya where Illya finds Gaby hurt really horribly and knows that it may be her last few moments? As angst-y as possible!</p><p>I love a person as sordid as me who requests such tragedy, so of course I write one. Ye be warned. <b>Character death.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Depths of the Sea and Back

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is sad enough for you! The title is in reference to what Illya would do for Gaby.

**US Naval Base  
Guantanamo Bay, Cuba  
3rd May, 1965**

\---

He kept staring at his hands.

It was all he could bring himself to look at.

\---

Napoleon finished listening to the daily meeting between the Navy’s commanding officer stationed here and the Marine’s CO as well. He took the earpieces from his ears and began to wrap up the equipment. He had bugged the Admiral’s office when they had first arrived on the base out of habit, not particularly because the CIA were especially interested in anything here. Though, Napoleon suspected they already had bugged the hell out of the office, as well as the Cubans’ having placed their own bugs there as well.

Nothing of interest had come up in the meeting, so Napoleon walked to stand on the balcony and felt the warm, salty breeze caress his face. The sun had warmed the stones of the patio underfoot and he could understand how cats liked to just sit under the golden light and be warmed. He flexed his toes as he rested his hands on the balcony. He stood half in shade and half-out of it as he looked across the beautiful white sands that stretched between their patio and the crystalline Caribbean sapphire that lapped at the shore. Overhead, the low drone of aircraft carried as a cargo plane left the airstrip not too far away from their temporary residence. It was a very present reminder that this was an active military installation.

Only one obstacle interrupted the expanse of beach and it was in the form of a huge Russian man that was getting even more sunburned as the days progressed. All he did was sit there, roughly in the same spot on the beach, and he would stare out at the water. His feet would rest atop the sand and his hands would rest on his thighs. His head would either stare at the water, never seeing anything, or they would look down to his hands. Napoleon had ever wondered if the man cried--could special forces, highly trained KGB agents do that?--or if it had been trained out of him and this was the only form of mourning he could do.

Napoleon shook his head and went back inside to the medicine cabinet. He pulled out the fresh bottle of aloe vera that he’d acquired from the Navy hospital and set it on the table just inside the door that led in from the balcony. Illya would not be back inside until well after sun-down, and the state of his red skin was getting extreme. Napoleon had thought it wise to give him his space, but he was going to step in. Illya’s skin would blister soon if it hadn’t already started and Napoleon wouldn’t let the brute make himself sick and die of sunstroke, no matter how much he may want to.

If things didn’t change soon, he was going to step in and make Illya grieve like a normal person.

* * *

**Runaway Bay, Jamaica  
24th April, 1965**

The mansion resting atop a small hill was illuminated by torches and various other forms of candles as the party was in full swing. A band playing the region’s standard calypso music carried on the warm night’s air as the partygoers mingled with one another. If they had been in another city that wasn’t located in a tropical climate, the event would have been a standard black suit and tie affair, but as it was, most of the gentlemen had settled for lightweight dress pants and a nice linen shirt pressed and elegant, to be sure, but not anything heavy. The idea of wearing a coat here was not something generally accepted, given the temperature. The ladies were still elegantly dressed, but most had foregone the notion of wearing gloves for the evening.

Gaby was one such lady, despite Illya and Napoleon being split on the issue. Napoleon was for, Illya insisted that she not be inconvenienced by such things. Gaby had decided against going with them on and had been escorted to the event by Illya. Napoleon was doing the watching from the nearest vantage point, a sniper’s nest down the beach but with enough viewpoints to get the job done if he were to be needed.

Their mission was simple: an ex-pat Briton, formerly of the British Intelligence office, was going to be auctioning off British secrets and some stolen artifacts from his time in the war. Their goal was to stop him. Illya was playing the representative of a high-ranking Soviet official, and this was not entirely untrue, but it did flirt close to his actual cover. Too close, Napoleon thought and kind of hated Waverly for not letting him be the one that was Gaby’s escort. Gaby was playing the role of assistant to the high ranking official’s representative and they may or may not be having an affair together, something that Illya’s non-existent wife would be unhappy to find out should it ever arise. Their excuse was that they had come to the Caribbean to escape her watchful eye in Berlin. This had amused their target and he was currently telling a store to a semi-circle of listeners.

Napoleon rolled his eyes at the horribly delivered punchline of the story and tried to cover a yawn. The tide was coming in and it was inching closer towards his patent leather shoes. Getting them wet displeased him, so he spoke into the mouthpiece of his headset.

“Hope this doesn’t take too much longer, chaps. I think a crab is getting interesting ideas about getting into my trousers.”

A moment later and Gaby subtly replied.

“Are you saying that you will have crabs in your underwear by tonight?”

Napoleon rolled his eyes but remained silent and watched the pair of them as the evening continued. All was going well till their mark’s own representative murmured something into his ear. The American sniper watched as his expression changed.

“Something is up guys. He looks unhappy.”

Illya had gone to get another drink for Gaby and was therefore several steps further away then he would have liked. Gaby remained calm and waited for him to come back as their host for the evening approached her. It all unravelled from there. Napoleon watched with his finger poised on the trigger as two large men, bulkier than Illya and around the same height, grabbed Gaby’s arms and held her in place. The host began to speak and something cold went down Napoleon’s spine.

“It seems you haven’t been honest with us, Miss Schmidt, or should I have said Teller?” The man’s posh London accent had grown frigid as his eyes glared dangerously at her. Illya was moving back closer to her but a gun was withdrawn from a pocket by one of the large men and pointed it at him. Illya paused.

“And you, you really are a KGB agent, not working for a devious official as you claimed, isn’t that right Kuryakin?” 

Their covers blown, Napoleon spoke into the mouthpiece. “Be careful, we don’t know what he’s capable of…” He said it in warning as he saw Illya’s hand began to shake next to his body. 

“I think I will take Miss Teller with me. You are to scatter if you ever wish to see her again, alive.” The mark said and gave a nod to the other two to begin dragging her towards a yacht that was docked on the opposite end of where Napoleon was stationed. If they got to the wharf, they would be out of his range. “This auction is over.” He addressed his guests as they had been staring curiously and they began to depart.

Illya moved but it was only a step before the sound of the gun cocked and they clipped Gaby in the arm. Her cry of pain smashed through the intercom in Solo’s ear. “Move nearer again, Kuryakin and it won’t be her shoulder.”

The crowd had moved faster at the sound of the gunshot and Napoleon rose up from the beach. He couldn’t get a clear shot with everyone moving in his way and Illya was held in place by the fear of getting her more seriously hurt. Gaby didn’t begin to cry, though she was definitely in pain as they made her walk towards the yacht. They were there quickly and the mark was giving orders to leave immediately.

Illya waited till they were on the boat before he began to run towards it. Napoleon had caught up to him just as the boat left the edge of the dock and the amount of water that was separating them continued to expand. Illya cried out in rage as he looked around for anything that could be used to close the distance. Napoleon remembered a small marina half a mile further down the beach and relayed that to Illya, who then took off at a run for the marina. Napoleon was hot on his heels.

The Russian arrived first, taking the quickest looking boat he could find and started off to where the much larger yacht was nearing the horizon. Thankfully there was a full moon and the torchlight helped a little. Napoleon stopped to breathe heavily as Illya left the pier without him and he spoke into the earpiece.

“Gaby hang on, we’re coming.”

They could only hear broken pieces coming from her end as the distance between the three receivers was so large. It was improving for Illya as she got nearer to her position, and eventually for Napoleon also as he commandeered his own vessel and began pursuit.

Meanwhile, on the boat, the captain, their mark, had given orders to open fire on anyone pursuing. Gaby felt the sharp searing pain in her shoulder, but couldn’t breathe when she saw one of the man’s henchmen get a line on Illya. With so much light from the moon, he couldn’t miss, and she shouted out to him, but she couldn’t risk that being enough. She rushed the man with the gun and hit him just as he shot. His shot went wide of Illya’s boat altogether but Gaby got a nice little backhand for her effort. Sprawled on the floor, she was too dazed to put up much of a fight as she was grabbed by her hair and taken below deck by the captain.

Illya took a shot with his own weapon, but it missed the one who had shot at him. He swore in Russian as he heard through Gaby’s earpiece what the captain was promising to do to her once they had dispatched of Illya. He lined up another shot just as the bang came directed at him. He ducked and began to parry with bullets his enemy. Knowing Gaby was safe below deck, he didn’t dare stop as he took his shots, reloading when his magazine emptied.

Then, somewhere in the crossfire, the much larger ship’s engine got clipped by a wayward bullet, causing it to explode. Illya froze where he was as the bright orange pillar climbed into the sky and soon half of the boat was engulfed in the inferno. Gaby had made a surprised sound as the boat had been rocked with the force of the blast and Illya heard her cry out and that spurred him back into action.

“Gaby? Can you get out? The boat is going down.” Napoleon was saying through their connection and Illya was trying to find a way on board. The American was correct, the fire wasn’t going to be much of a problem, since the boat had been broken in half by the blast. It truly was going down rapidly.

“I can’t.” She said and Illya stopped breathing. “Something is in the way of the door. The captain’s dead.”

Illya found a hole and jumped into the water, uncaring of the burning debris surrounding him. “Where are you?” He asked as he swam towards the sinking ship.

“I don’t...I don’t know. Water’s coming in through the door.” She said and Illya heard the fear she was trying to hide in her voice.

“I’m coming. Just keep talking to me.” He said as he took a deep breath and then swam under what used to be the upper deck to try and find a way in through the hull.

The communicator was garbled underwater, but it still had enough of a transmission that he could hear her speaking. He kept listening to her words in his mind as he tried to pry some of the metal apart so that he could swim in and find her. He managed to do so, but he was forced to use a pocket of air to save his burning lungs from exploding.

“Gaby, it’s all right. I am on my way.” Illya said again, breathing heavily, as he treaded water through what once had been a corridor in the interior. He saw a door down from him and he began to swim towards it.

“The water is up to my chest, I can’t get the door open.”

Illya made himself swim faster as the ship groaned loudly and he paused out of a moment’s panic. The air pocket he’d had was closing in too quickly, there was another breach somewhere. He took a deeper breath knowing that it would be his last one till he resurfaced and he swam towards the door he had seen and tried to pull it open, but Gaby was right. The damn thing would not budge.

“Try and stay calm. You’ll use less oxygen that way.” Napoleon was saying. “Illya is almost there, Gaby. I promise, we’ll get you out.”

Illya used all of his strength to pull at the door then he tried to push it open, but it wasn’t working. The door was heavy wood, likely solid all the way through, and it wasn’t going anywhere. He refused to give up as he went around trying to find another way in. He swam through the gaping opening and broke the surface of the water and inhaled deeply. Gaby wasn’t speaking much anymore and he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears as well as the rush of water all around him.

“Gaby, can you hear me?” Illya spoke.

Faintly, there was a reply. “Yes.”

“Is there window in the room you are in?”

“Yes. On the right side.”

Illya breathed a sigh of relief as he prepared himself to dive back down. “Stay strong, Gaby. I will come for you.”

He took a deep breath and plunged beneath the surface, striking out as he swam as quickly as he could back down to the wreck. It was mostly submerged and water would undoubtedly be rushing into the cabins the deeper the boat sank.

Her voice called out to him. “Illya...if, if anything happens, I love you.”

Illya would have smiled if it wouldn’t have compromised his air intake. Everything was going to be all right, he wanted to say. He was almost there because he could see the hole in the side of the ship that resembled the portal. He swam towards it and tried to find something he could use to smash the glass open and get her out.

“The water is coming in quicker now.” She said and the panic grew in her voice. Illya’s hand secured around a piece of metal and he swam back towards the window. “Solo, you were a great friend. Illya I love--”

Her communicator went silent and Illya refused to panic as he began to hit at the window. It took several strong blows, made more difficult by the weight of the water pressing down on him. The glass finally broke, shards of it drowned out by the sea around him and Illya looked in to the hole. Gaby was floating in the middle of the room, her arms limply floating in the water as it held her in place like a sleeping angel. Illya tried to reach for her hand, and touched it barely, but it wasn’t a strong enough grasp to pull her towards the hold. The boat shifted again and she was floating away from him.

The opening itself was too small for him to fit through, despite him trying over and over. Gaby then floated out of reach and he couldn’t even touch her hand anymore. Illya screamed under water, effectively shoving saltwater into his lungs, but he didn’t care. The boat had slid entirely under the surface and not even Illya’s massive strength could haul the whole thing back up again. Even if he could, he wasn’t someone who could bring back the dead. And, deep in his heart, he knew it was too late.

Illya stayed down, wanting to drown right along with her, until a strong arm wrapped around his chest and hauled him back towards the surface. He spluttered the seawater from his body and shoved at the person who had pulled him back up.

“Let go! I have to get her out! Let go!”

“It’s too late, Peril.” Napoleon was saying but Illya still kept fighting him. Over and over he kept saying that he had to go back down, he had to swim back down to her, until finally Napoleon smacked him across the face and then pulled him into a hug. “It’s too late. She’s gone, Illya.”

Illya struggled in his hold but he finally collapsed against the smaller man’s body. Napoleon would never admit to it, but he felt the warmth of Illya’s tears in his neck and he tread them back towards the small craft he’d stolen. He pushed Illya onto it first before he climbed up as the burning planks surrounded them. The air was still warm, and the fire warmer still, but not even either of those things could bring any warmth back into their bodies.

As Napoleon looked at Illya, he wondered if the Russian would ever get warm again.

* * *

Napoleon walked out to the beach at sunset and Illya still had not moved. Unlike all the other days, he sat himself down next to the larger man and looked out at the water. The sun was setting behind them, leaving the sky a pretty darkening purple and pink. He let his hands rest on the warm sand next to his body and he looked at Illya. His sunburn had truly worsened, he was beginning to shiver from the chills he was feeling due to how bad it had gotten.

“Illya, it’s time to come inside.”

The first few days, Napoleon had let him have his space, but when he’d asked Illya to come in, Illya had avoided him until he’d almost gotten violent when Napoleon had actually tried to move him. He made it clear without saying a word that he wasn’t going to be moved, so Napoleon had let him have his space. Until now.

He wasn’t really surprised when the Russian didn’t say anything.

“You look like a tomato that’s been in the sun too long.”

Illya still didn’t say anything and Napoleon wanted to shake his head, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked out across the water. Less than two hundred miles across is where everything had gone sour. Somewhere out there, Gaby was forever at rest.

“Illya, I know what she meant to you. She wouldn’t want you to sit here like this day after day. She--”

“She was right there, Cowboy.” Illya whispered, his voice not used in over a week. Not since it happened. “She was right _there_.”

He was looking at his hands again and Napoleon felt his heart break for the other man. He could only imagine how it must feel to finally find someone who not only can understand your quirks, but accept them and deal with them without judgement, to be taken away like that. For someone like Illya, a loner, he could only imagine how much worse it would be.

Napoleon let his hand rest on Illya’s knee. “It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

“I could have got there sooner.”

“You swam faster than any Olympian I’ve ever seen.” Napoleon shook his head and pulled his hand back. “Illya, you can’t save everyone.”

The man nodded slowly, but Napoleon wondered if he actually had listened.

“Not everyone. But I should have saved her.”

Napoleon’s expression softened and he stayed quiet for a while. There was only so many times he could say ‘it wasn’t your fault’ or ‘there wasn’t anything you could have done’. There were only so many times he could say those things and it wouldn’t matter. Illya wasn’t going to forgive himself any time soon, even if Napoleon told him he should.

“Come inside. We need to take care of your sunburn.”

Neither moved for a while, as if Napoleon hadn’t spoken at all. By the time Illya did move, the sun was gone and the stars were peeking out overhead. He was stiff, from having sat in the same position all day and also his sunburn had made it difficult. Napoleon was going to call to have one of the nurses stop by with some medicated ointment.

The two walked back into the house and Illya sat down at the table. Under the artificial electric lights, he looked a lot worse because the shadows played unkindly with his features. Napoleon made the phone call to the naval hospital and then he was back with some water to give Illya.

“Drink this. I’ll fix you a sandwich till the nurse gets here.” Illya remained silent as Napoleon busied himself around the kitchen. Illya hadn’t been eating or drinking, as if he wanted to blow away with the sand, but Napoleon wasn’t going to let him anymore. He was going to take care of him now that Gaby couldn’t.

“Here you are, Peril.” He said and placed the innocent white bread peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich in front of him.

“What is this?” Illya looked at the plate as if it were some form of stew that smelled horrendous.

“American classic. We call it a pb&j. Now eat it.”

Illya did as he was told and Napoleon went to go look out the front window. He waited for headlights to appear coming down the road as he heard Illya’s soft chewing behind him. He let out a breath and spoke to the air that surrounded them.

“We will get through this. I miss her too, Peril. I miss her too.”

Illya was silent as he set the sandwich back down on the plate, appetite gone. He shivered from the chills he felt as a single tear drifted down his burned cheek. The sandwich weighed heavily on his stomach as he looked at the clear water in the glass. It wasn’t enough to drown in, but he was tempted to give it a try.

Quietly, Illya replied to Napoleon’s comment. The American didn’t hear him, as he went out to greet the nurse who just pulled up in a military jeep.

“You don’t miss her as much as I do. And you never will.”


End file.
